When he visited Calpernia in her quarters the next day, Samson knew what to do, more or less. They never really talked before, but it didn't matter, he should at least try. Better to try and fail, than… He cursed, feeling utterly stupid.
After knocking and hearing her voice, Samson entered the room. Calpernia was sitting by a table covered by papers and books, holding a blue porcelain cup in her hands, filled with most likely tea. He would never expect to see someone here drinking tea like some kind of Orlesian noblewoman spending her time planning a masquerade party not a military operation. Yet the fact Calpernia drank tea from porcelain cups was oddly right, as if it was exactly what he should expect from her. Of course she would choose tea instead of drinking cheap, sour wine straight from the bottle, like him.
She had peeled off her gloves, revealing long nails painted black. It seemed a bit bizarre that it was the first time he saw her hands bare. Or maybe he never paid enough attention to her body, especially her hands, gloved or not. Now, however, Samson couldn't help but wonder how would it feel, her sharp nails cutting his skin, adding new scars to the old ones, her long, thin fingers smeared with blood. He had to shake his head to not dwell on this thought for too long. It was disturbing yet so tempting, and he knew too well he had a weakness for mages.
"Samson." There was a hint of surprise in her voice, her eyebrows raised a little as she put the cup on the table and folded her hands in front of her. He distantly wondered if she knew how elegant her hands were.
He gave her a nod, taking few steps closer, but not too close because this was probably the first time they were about to have a normal conversation that wasn't all about listening to the words spoken by the Elder One and discussing their next move.
"I'd like to congratulate you on your victory over Erimond."
It was a good opening sentence that was supposed to initiate a casual conversation. He hoped. Women liked to be appreciated, right? He was awaiting her response, something along the lines of, Why, thank you, Samson, I had to show him who's in charge, followed by, Yes, you are the true leader your people need, Lady Calpernia, that could effectively break all formalities that stood between them like a screen. But as he waited, seconds turned into one minute and then two, Samson started to notice just how Calpernia was looking at him, and realized the response was not coming.
She was glaring at him, rather warily, clearly not sure what was he doing here, perhaps thinking he wanted something from her. The truth was he did want something but he could not voice his needs, unless he wished to die in flames, screaming. He couldn't quite get out of his mind the thought of her long nails scratching his skin, or her elegant fingers tangled in his hair, and Samson was sure he might be developing an obsession – which could also be a sign he was finally losing his mind. Great, that was just what he needed.
He decided to try again.
"May I?" he gestured at the other chair. Calpernia's brows furrowed, she didn't say anything, however, so he took it as his chance and quickly sat down, before she could throw him out of her room.
"Why are you here, Samson?" she asked, and it was so painfully clear she was far from thinking he would have any intentions for coming here other than attacking her just like the man she had to confront earlier.
Because they were both considered as the Vessel. Of course. It didn't mean they had to be at each other's throats all the time, right?
"I simply want to show you my appreciation– "
"Oh? Is that so?" she interrupted him, lips twisted in disgust. The face she was making was quite comical, and could be even considered adorable – on anyone other than a powerful Tevinter witch.
"Why?" she asked, command clear in her voice.
The chair creaked slightly when he shifted. "Do I need a reason? You did handle the situation well, if you ask me, it's always better to show your people you are the leader they want. Erimond is a fool if he thinks he can replace you. You are quite… admirable, I must say."
Her frown deepened. Maker, this woman was impossible!
Samson decided to continue despite her complete lack of response and perfectly visible anger. "I'm sure not only your Venatori approved of that speech, I've overheard my men talking about you as well. They were impressed… I still am impressed…"
The awkwardness of this conversation nearly made him choke. He'd like to move past all these barriers, past the initial stages full of pointless talks about nothing. The mocking scowl Calpernia shot at him made him question if she could read his thoughts.
He cleared his throat. "All I'm saying is that, if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, and you need an ally, you have my full suppo– "
"I don't need your pity!"
She sounded so hostile he nearly ran away with his tail between his legs. Samson blinked, not prepared for Calpernia's fury being directed at him. She was a formidable foe, a powerful mage, and a fascinating woman; if he made her truly mad he would end up dead in seconds.
He chuckled, wondering if that would be the last sound he ever made. "I can assure you, Lady Calpernia, I do not pity you, though I'm quite sure you should pity me because I'm making a fool of myself."
"To me it sounds like you came here to tell me I need your protection," she spat. "Because a woman, a former slave, can't take care of herself? I certainly do not need your help."
"My protection? My help?" despite the seriousness in her voice, Samson wanted to laugh. "I think we both know you don't need me. Void take me, you could probably command the Red Templars as well, and they would listen to you without a single complaint."
"Then what do you want, Samson?"
Suddenly it all made sense to him. Of course she was so hostile towards him. The sad truth was, she was not used to kindness.
"I want to make it clear. I'm not your enemy. Perhaps my word doesn't matter much, but… I have your back. If you ever need me."
Samson could see confusion replacing anger as Calpernia narrowed her eyes at him. He stood up, deciding it would be wiser if he left now. There was still one more thing he wanted to do, however.
He held out his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, she put her hand in his, still looking at him warily, ready to attack if he made the slightest move suggesting he was here to hurt her. Breaking their eye contact, Samson looked down on their hands together. Long, thin fingers she could wrap around his neck and squeeze. Black, sharp nails that could cut his skin to see him bleed. And yet her hand was so... petite compared to his, not soft but rather it was a hand that knew hard work.
His lips brushed the skin on her slender hand, and he could feel Calpernia trembling slightly, fighting with the urge to take her hand away.
"I do admire you, Lady Calpernia."
He was not lying, Samson wished he could tell her that, too; instead he gave her a nod, finally letting go of her hand, and left before he said what he could later regret.